


Feathers and Bone

by brokenbutstillstanding



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe: everyone lives but Thorin, Angst, Depression, Fairy Tale Elements, I once again bastardize Tolkien, M/M, Pining, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29949132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbutstillstanding/pseuds/brokenbutstillstanding
Summary: Bilbo wasn’t planning on almost stepping on what appeared to be a rather large raven that was standing on his front doorstep as if it was waiting to come inside. It blinked at him. Bilbo blinked back.Thorin is brought back as a raven five years after his death. If he can only get Bilbo to recognize him he can take his human form once more, but that is a lot harder than it sounds.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	Feathers and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter titles based off of the song "Far From Home (The Raven)" by Sam Tinnesz

It was the first Highday of Thrimidge and Bilbo woke just the same as he had every other Highday of the year. Actually that wasn’t entirely honest, Bilbo had been in a great deal of a better mood that morning than he had been in a very long time.

In close to five years actually.

Highday happened every single week same as every other day, and Hobbits tended to celebrate it the same way too. It was a day for family and feasting and doing nothing more than propping your feet up in front of the fire and relaxing.

Well perhaps not propping your feet up, that would be terribly improper. Unless it was on a footstool of some sort. But what a grown Hobbit did in his or her smial was none of Bilbo’s business really. 

This week Bilbo had managed to drag himself down to the market himself instead of relying on Hamfast, Bell, or one of their children (no matter how polite and bright-eyed young Samwise was), and had gotten quite the spread for tonight. He figured he should brush up on his cooking skills just a tad seeing as he would have others to feed who may not approve of eating nothing but toast and jam. Someone who wouldn’t care that every time he went into his pantry he could hear nothing but the ringing of Dwarrow laughter in his ears and dust stinging his eyes as he tried not to think about one in particular. 

He’d second-guessed himself about a million times since extending the offer. Bilbo wasn’t entirely certain he was caretaker material, but he figured if he could wrangle Kili and Fili he could at least manage his own second cousin right?

Frodo had been a sweet boy when he’d seen him last, if a little shy. He didn’t deserve to be passed around from relative to relative, especially when Bilbo had more than enough space for the young lad. 

It was times like this he wished more than anything to be able to see his friends in Erebor face to face again. He was certain Glóin would have some excellent child-rearing advice for him. He was sure that Kili would be able to make his ward smile, maybe he’d even cajole Fili into joining him (though the elder of the two had grown leaps and bounds in maturity since taking the throne. But Bilbo didn’t like to think about that, because thinking about that would mean thinking about who should be sitting on it instead).

But the point was Bilbo had woken up happy. He’d fried up some bacon instead of his standard meal of bread and preserves and made his way out to the garden where his daffodils were beginning to bloom quite nicely in their sunny patch next to Bilbo’s oak tree. The beautiful willow oak was still maturing, but over the years it had reached a towering ten feet. He loved to spend the mornings underneath the branches with his pipe and a cup of tea.

He was planning on doing just that when he opened the door to his smial this morning. He wasn’t planning on almost stepping on what appeared to be a rather large raven that was standing on his front doorstep as if it was waiting to come inside. 

It blinked at him.

Bilbo blinked back. 

“Uh…good morning…” Bilbo greeted stupidly.

It blinked again.

Bilbo shuffled to the side, his teacup firmly in his hand as he eyed the creature. As he slowly moved to go around it the bird mirrored him. Bilbo had never seen a bird act quite like this before. Not to mention the only ravens in the Shire were the ones bringing messages to him from Erebor, and this bird held no letter. There were crows, but he’d seen enough ravens in Erebor before he’d left to recognize the difference.

He tried shuffling the other way to no avail.

Bilbo was a bit put off. So much for his tea. As he turned to go back inside the raven hopped forward eagerly. Bilbo froze.

“I’m….sorry….you can’t come inside”. He couldn’t fathom why he was bothering to speak to a bird at all. The other Hobbits already called him “Mad-Baggins” and if he started talking to birds he would have to be inclined to agree with them.

Another blink. Something about the raven unnerved him greatly but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He paused awkwardly, his hand on the doorknob.

“Well…good day.” He bid the raven farewell and opened the door quickly, bolting inside and shutting the door.

He locked it for good measure.

Perhaps he was going mad.

Despite the curious start to his morning Bilbo was determined to hold onto his good mood with a vice grip. He drank his tea, began preparing for second-breakfast, and sat down to work on a few chapters of his book.

He was detailing the Company and their adventure in Mirkwood, describing the barrel ride with a certain degree of fondness (although there was nothing remotely amusing about it at the time). He had just gotten to the part about Kili’s injury when he faltered. He had never quite lost the empty feeling of loss in his gut whenever he wrote about Thorin.

He promptly decided he wasn’t hungry for elevensies. 

Deciding it was time for a break that had nothing to do with certain Dwarrow Kings, he abandoned his writing in favor of the book laying on the corner of his desk. Ori had sent it with his last letter and Bilbo had spent more time than he was willing to admit gazing at the pages.

He never read it. He couldn’t. It was entirely in Khudzul, though Ori had explained to him it was designed for Dwarrow children learning to speak Westron so it used Common letters rather than the Khudzul script that normally accompanied the language.

Bilbo still hadn’t the slightest what it meant. From what he had been told, it was rather improper for Ori to have sent him the book in the first place as it was not to be spoken or taught to outsiders. The fact that his friend trusted him enough to possess it meant more to Bilbo than he could put into words.

His favorite thing about the book was the beautiful illustrations that accompanied every other page. There were scenes depicting great Dwarrow battles and deep mines, of rooms filled with gold and great halls carved from greater mountains.

He turned the page and paused. The image in front of him was of a male Dwarrow (at least he thought they were male) with a great raven perched on his arm. The Dwarrow seemed to be in the middle of speaking to it, the splash of color on the page reflecting the blue shine of its wings in a way Bilbo could never achieve.

He argued with himself for a few moments before standing up, a rather undignified screech coming from his chair as it scraped across the wooden floor. He winced, hoping it hadn’t left a scuff. Not paying it more than a passing thought he ventured back to the front door once again, cracking it open just a smidge.

The raven was still there, exactly where Bilbo had left him that morning.

He slammed the door shut, bracing his back against it. 

What was he going to do? He had to leave his smial at some point. He felt silly, a raven shouldn’t be frightening him so, but something about the way the bird looked at him had him off-kilter. 

He tried to shake off the shiver that ran down his spine, the faint nudging somewhere in the back of his mind that Bilbo couldn’t decipher. He pivoted sharply, facing the door once again with his hand half stretched towards the doorknob.

He froze. What was he to do? Invite the bird inside? That would be a decision he’d quickly regret. He pivoted back. Perhaps he should start on dinner, and have his afternoon tea after his roast was in the oven. He never ate supper anymore. It took him so long to fall asleep these days that he was often tucked between his sheets by then, tossing and turning while tears wet his pillow. His dreams were often filled with blood and apologies and the faintest smiles causing eyes as blue as the ice under the Dwarrow to crease.

He tried very hard not to think about the raven that was likely still perched on his doorstep as he prepared his dinner, peeling the potatoes and vegetables to set aside for later.

He was just settling into his armchair with his favorite teacup (a beautiful porcelain thing with a scalloped rim and dainty hyacinths curling around the edges) and a plate of scones when he heard the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on his windows.

It was only a few hours later, just before dinner, when the rain picked up. It was truly a ghastly storm, rain pelting the windows of his cozy smial so hard he could barely hear the clinking of his dishes as he set the table, lightning illuminating the sky followed by loud claps of thunder.

Bilbo frowned. Before he could stop himself he was padding back over to his front door, cracking it open just a smidge to peer out.

There the raven sat, its feathers looking quite poor and ruffled as the rain-soaked it to the bone. He shut the door again and sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he thumped his head on the solid wood of his door softly. Was he really going to do this?

Another flash of lightning and the picking up of the rain decided for him. He opened his door a bit wider this time, paying no mind to the rain soaking his entryway as he addressed the raven.

“Please, come in before the wind blows you away” he offered stiffly.

Almost as if that's what the bird had been waiting for all day it flapped the water out of its feathers as it hopped inside. Bilbo shut the door behind it and once again the bird and the Hobbit stood blinking at each other in silence.

Bilbo hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do now.

The raven seemed to make the decision for him, hopping its way into his dining room as Bilbo hurried along after it, already regretting his decision. But the bird didn’t head straight for the food as he had expected, rather he fluttered up to the table a little clumsily and just stood there. Almost like he was waiting for Bilbo to take his seat.

He did slowly, feeling awkward as he cut into his meal. About halfway through his battling mind won out and he stood, moving quickly to his kitchen to grab a saucer and returning to the dining room only to find the raven hadn’t moved an inch. He pulled apart some of his roast, cutting it into small bites and placing it on the dish. Did ravens even eat meat? He supposed he’d find out.  
He pushed the saucer across the table towards the bird. It just looked at him for a moment and Bilbo was starting to feel a little silly when it hopped forward and began pecking at it, his beak making a sharp clinking sound as it made contact with the dish-ware.

After washing up he gave the raven one more glance before retreating to his bedroom. It just stood there as he did and Bilbo supposed he’d see what a mess it made when he woke up in the morning.

As he performed his nightly ablutions and snuggled under his covers he fell asleep quite quickly for once as he anticipated the teasing letter he would surely receive from Kili and Fili upon explaining this story.

And for once he didn’t dream of blood and ice.


End file.
